Revolution 2020 (8 page)

Why
do
girls
send
confusing
signals?
She
had
rebuffed
me
on
the
boat
the
other
day.
Yet
she
comes
to
shop
with
me
for
boring
clothes
hangers
and
doesn
’
t
let
me
pay.
She
calls
me
three
times
a
day
to
check
if
I
’
ve
had
my
meals.
Does
she
care
for
me
or
not?

                                             
♦

‘You want to
try the new Dominos at Sigra?’ she said.

‘Can we go to
the ghats?’ I said.

‘Ghats?’
she said, surprised.

‘I want to
soak in as much Varanasi as possible before I leave.’

We walked lo the
steps of the Lalita Ghat, quieter than the busy Dashasliwametfh on
our right. We sat next to each other
and
watched
the
Ganga change colours with the evening sun. On our left, flames
flickered from the never-ending funeral pyres in the Manikarnika
Ghat. The ghat, named after Shiva’s earring that he dropped
here during a dance, is considered the holiest place for cremation.

She held my elbow
lightly. I looked around. Apart from some tourists and sadhus, I
spotted a few locals. I shook my elbow free.

‘What?’
she said.

‘Don’t.
It’s not good. Especially for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you
are a girl.’

She smacked my
elbow. ‘So what?’

‘People talk.
They don’t say good things about girls who sit on the ghats
holding elbows’

‘We are just
really good friends,’ she said.

I hated that term. I
wanted to talk about my place in her life, even though I did not want
to make things unpleasant. ‘But now I am leaving,’ I
said.

‘So? We will
be in touch. We will call. We can chat on the net. There are cyber
cafes in Kota, right?’

I nodded.

‘Don’t
look so glum,’ she said. We heard the temple bells ring in the
distance. The evening aarti was about to begin.

‘What is your
problem?’ I said.

‘About what?’
she said.

‘About us. Us
being more than friends’

‘Please,
Gopal, not again.’

I became quiet. We
saw the evening aarti from a distance. A dozen priests, holding giant
lamps the size of flaming torches, prayed in synchronised moves as
singers chanted in the background. Hundreds of tourists gathered
around the priests. No matter how many times you see it, the aarti on
Varanasi ghats manages to mesmerise each time. Much

like the Aarti next
to me. She wore a peacock blue salwar-kameez and fish-shaped silver
earrings.

‘I don’t
feel that way, Gopal,’ she said.

‘About me?’

About anyone. And I
like what you and I share. Don’t you?’

‘I do. But I
am leaving now. If we had a commitment, wouldn’t it be better?’

‘Commitment?
Gopal, we are so young!’ She laughed. She stood up. ‘Come,
let’s float diyas. For your trip.’

Girls are the best
topic switchers in the world.

We walked down to
the waters. She purchased a set of six lit diyas for five rupees. She
passed one to me. She set one diya afloat. Holding my hand, she said,
'Let’s pray together, for success.’

‘May you get
what you want in Kota,’ she said, eyes shut.

I looked at her.
What
I
really
want
is
not
in
Kota,
I
am
leaving
it
behind
in
Varanasi
...

 
Kota

It took me
twenty-three hours in the hot and stuffy Dwarka Express to reach
Kota.

I had emailed
Vineet, a Varanasi boy who’d spent the last year in Kota, I
learnt about the coaching classes; Bansal and Resonance had the best
reputation. However, they screened students with their own tests. If
I did not get into Bansal or Resonance, Kota had other, less
selective coaching classes that catered to losers like me.

However, before I
joined a coaching ghetto I had to find a place to live in. Vineet had
told me about some paying guest accommodations. I hailed an auto from
the railway station. ‘Gayatri Society Building,’ I said,
‘in Mahavir Nagar, near Bansal classes’

The auto drove down
the dusty streets of Kota. It looked like any other small town in
India, with too much traffic and pollution and too many telecom,
underwear and coaching-class hoardings. I wondered what was so
special about this place. How could it make thousands of students
clear the most competitive exam in the world?

‘IIT or
Medical?’ asked the auto driver, who had gray hair and matching
teeth.

I figured out what
made Kola different. Every one was clued into the entrance exams.

‘IIT,’ I
said.

‘Bansal is the
best. But their entrance exam is scheduled for next week.’

‘You know all
this?’ I said, baffled by the driver’s knowledge.

He laughed and
turned around. ‘My whole family is into education. My wife runs
a tiffin business. You want food delivered?’

I nodded.

‘Shankar,
originally from Alwar,’ he said. He extended his grease-stained
hand.

I shook it as little
as possible. ‘Gopal from Varanasi.’

He gave me a
business card for the tiffin service. Two meals a day for a monthly
cost of fifteen hundred bucks.

‘Let us take
care of the food. You boys study, it is such a tough exam.’

‘Which exam?’
I said.

‘For IIT it is
JEE. Come on, Gopal bhai. We are not that uneducated.’

                                                   ♦

We reached the
Gayatri Society compound. A rusty iron gate protected a crumbling
block of apartments. A sweeper with a giant broom produced dust
clouds in the air in an attempt to clean the place. I went to the
small guard post at the entrance of the building. A watchman sat
inside.

‘Who do you
want to meet?’ the watchman said.

‘I want to
rent a room,’ I said.

The watchman looked
me over. He saw my two over-stuffed, overaged and over-repaired
suitcases. One held clothes, the other carried the books that had
failed to get me anywhere so far. My rucksack carried the stuff Aarti
had bought me. I missed her. I wondered if I should find an STD booth
and call her.

‘IIT or
Medical?’ the watchman asked, crushing tobacco in his hand.
Kota locals find it hard to place outsiders until they know what they
are there for.

‘IIT,’ I
said. I wished he would give me more attention than his nicotine fix,

‘First-timer
or repeater?’ the watchman asked next, still without looking
up.

‘Does it
matter?’ I said, somewhat irritated.

‘Yes,’
he said and popped the tobacco into his mouth. ‘If you are a
first-timer, you will join a school also. You will be out of the
house more. Repeaters only go for coaching classes. Many sleep all
day. Some landlords don’t like that. So, tell me and I can show
you the right place.’

‘Repeater,’
I said. I don’t know why I looked down as I said that. I guess
when you fail an entrance exam, even a tobacco-chewing watchman can
make you feel small.

‘Oh God,
another repeater,’ the watchman said. ‘Anyway, I will
try. Fix my fee first.’

‘What?’
I said.

‘I take half a
months rent. What’s your budget?’

‘Two thousand
a month.’

‘That’s
it?’ the watchman said. ‘Make it four thousand. I will
get you a nice, shared air-conditioned room.’

‘I can’t
afford to pay so much,’ I said.

The watchman
sneered, as if someone had asked for country liquor in a five-star
bar.

‘What?’
I said, wondering if I’d be spending my first night in Kota on
the streets.

‘Come,’
he beckoned. He opened the gate and kept my' suitcases in his cabin.
We climbed up the steps of the first apartment block.

‘Will you
share with other boys? Three to a room,’ the watchman

said.

‘I could,’
I said, ‘but how will I study? I want a private one, however
small.’

Studies or not, I
wanted to be left alone.

‘Okay, fifth
floor,’ the watchman said.

We climbed up three
floors. I panted due tu the exertion. The extreme heat did not help.
‘Kota is hot, get used to the weather,’ the watchman
said. ‘It is horrible outside. 1 hat is why it is a good place
to stay inside and study.’

We reached the
fourth floor. I struggled to catch my breath. He couldn’t stop
talking. ‘So you will study for real or you are just ...’
he paused mid-sentence.

‘Just what?’
I said.

‘Time-pass.
Many students come here because their parents push them. They know
they won’t get in. At least the parents stop harassing them for
a year,’ he said.

‘I want to get
in. I will get in,’ I said, more to myself than him.

‘Good. But if
you need stuff like beer or cigarettes, tell me. This housing society
doesn’t allow it.’

‘So?’

‘When Birju is
your friend, you don't have to worry. He winked at

me.

We rang the bell of
the fifth-floor flat. An elderly lady opened the door.

‘Student,’
the watchman said.

The lady let us in.
Her place smelt of medicines and damp. The watchman showed me the
room on rent. The lady had converted a storeroom into a study and
bedroom
.
The lady, watchman and I could barely stand in
the tiny room together.

‘It’s
perfect for studying, said the watchman, who probably hadn’t
studied even one day in his whole life. ‘Take it, it is within
your budget.’

I shook my head. The
room had no windows. The old lady seemed arrogant or deaf or both.
She kept a grumpy face throughout. I did not want to live here. Why
couldn’t I study in my Varanasi? What was so special about this
godforsaken place? I wanted to get out of Kota ASAP.

I walked out of the
flat. The watchman came running after me.

‘If you fuss
so much, you won’t get anything.’

‘I’ll go
back to Varanasi then,’ I said.

I thought about how
different my life would have been if I had answered six more
multiple-choice questions. I thought of Raghav, who would, at this
moment, be attending his orientation at the BHU campus. I thought of
Aarti and our heart-to-heart conversations. I thought of Baba’s
ill health and his determination to kick me into this dump. I fought
back tears. I started to walk down the stairs.

‘Or increase
your budget,’ the watchman said as he came up behind

me.

‘I cant. I
have to pay for food and the coaching classes,’ I said.

We walked down the
steps and reached the ground floor. ‘It happens the first
time,’ the watchman said, ‘missing your mother?’

‘She’s
dead,’ I said

‘Recently?'
the watchman said. Some people find it perfectly normal to cross
examine strangers.

‘She died
fourteen years ago,’ I said.

I came to the guard
post and picked up my bags. ‘Thank you, Birju’ I said.

‘Where are you
going? Take a shared room,’ he pleaded.

‘I’ll
find a cheap hotel for now. I am used to being alone. I’ll
figure things out.’

Birju took the
suitcases from me and placed them down. ‘I have a proper room,’
he said, ‘double the size of what you saw. It has windows, a
big fan. A retired couple stays there. Within your budget...’

‘Then why
didn’t you show it to me earlier?’

‘There’s
a catch;

‘What?’

‘Someone died
in the house.’

‘Who?’ I
said. Big deal, I could take death. I’m from Varanasi, where
the world comes to die.

‘The student
who rented it. He didn’t get through, so he killed himself. Two
years ago. It has been empty since.’

I did not respond.

‘Now you see
why I didn’t show it to you,
⁵
Birju said,

‘I’ll
take it,’ I said.

‘Sure?’

‘I’ve
seen dead bodies burning and floating all my life. 1 don’t care
if some loser hanged himself.'

The watchman picked
up my suitcases. We went to the third floor in the next flat. A
couple in their sixties stayed there. They kept the place
immaculately clean. The spartan to-let room had a bed, table,
cupboard and fan.

‘Fifteen
hundred,’ I said to the couple. The watchman gave me a dirty
look.

The couple looked at
each other.

‘I know what
happened here,’ I said, ‘and it’s fine by me.’

The old gentleman
nodded. ‘I am RL Soni, I used to work in the PWD.’ He
extended his hand.

I gave him a firm
handshake. ‘I’m Gopal, an IIT repeater. I plan to get in
this time,’ I said.

I dumped the
brochures on the bed, and took off my shoes and socks. I had spent
the day visiting various coaching schools. At three in the afternoon,
my room felt at ignition point.

Mr Soni gently
knocked on the door of my room. ‘Your lunch,’ he said and
kept the tiffin on my study table.

I nodded in
gratitude. It felt too hot to exchange pleasantries. I had arranged
for my meals and a place to stay. However, my main challenge in Kota,
apart from constantly fighting off thoughts about Aarti, was to enrol
in a good study programme. I had spent the last three days doing the
rounds of every coaching school. I took in their tall claims about
zapping any primate into an IITian. I went through their
super-flexible (not to mention super-expensive) fee structures.
Bansal, Resonance and Career Path seemed to be everyone’s top
choices. Each of them had their own, rather difficult, entrance
exams. In fact, Kota now had small coaching shops to coach you to get
into the top coaching classes. From there, you would be coached to
get into an engineering college. Once there, you study to become an
engineer. Of course, most engineers want to do an MBA. Hence, the
same coaching class cycle would begin again. This complex vortex ol
tests, classes, selections and preparations is something every
insignificant Indian student like me has to go through to have a shot
at a decent life. Else, I could always take the job of Birju the
watchman or, if I wanted it simpler, hang myself like my erstwhile
room-resident Manoj Dutta.